


His Noiseless Passing By

by GoodQueenVold



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fourth Age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodQueenVold/pseuds/GoodQueenVold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He recalls only the wind fluttering the sails of the last ship, beneath that high, high star, alone in the vastness of water. Drabbles and ficlets about Celeborn in the Fourth Age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Noiseless Passing By

**Author's Note:**

> None noted aught their noiseless passing by;  
> The world had quite forgotten it must die.  
> -William Morris (1834-1896)

(T.A. 3019, April)

Dol Guldur lies in ruins atop the bald hill, the naked hill, Amon Lanc, its steel-dark walls thrown down and sprawled about the barren earth. Soon the stones shall be cleared, and trees replanted and brought to bloom, and the land, perhaps, repopulated by those who wish to remain, if only for a time.

There are yet things to be done. For a time.

 

* * *

 

 

(T.A. 3019, Mid-year’s Day)

 _The King’s doom shall be other than mine._  
  
There is no gloom on this evening of bliss, nor is there fading, not yet. Immeasurable swathes of light, from the lamps of the City, flame across the white stones and the seedling of the White Tree, gold now in the glow of grandeur.

“It is time,” Galadriel whispers to him.

His gaze rests on Arwen and Elessar, in their mirth, for a moment, as a great void of stars advances on the twilight, as her hand seeks his, and they turn to retire for the night.

_He will be blessed._

* * *

 

 

(T.A. 3019, September)

In Lórien, leagues from the sea, the Lady dreams of gulls, though she has no need of sleep— gulls, their wings crested and white as the foam of a sea-swell; gulls, their caws as constant and echoing as the toll of bells. In half-slumber she turns, arching into a splay of moonlight, and a glint of mithril gleams on her finger.

“ _Ai! Maiwí eärello,_ ” she says. “Do you not heed them?”  
  
“Now? Nay, I do not.” But oft in the shades of Cerin Amroth, when the wind is high and the mallorns shiver in the waning of the year, and lay down their leaves as a cloak for sallow ground, he hears the gush of waves against an unknown shore, and the squalls of birds no longer heard on Earth, and his heart courses like the deeps.

Her smile is grave. “Perhaps someday you will again. Will you then join me?”

“ _Rato, meldanya, rato._ ”

 _Soon, my love._ Soon— for the bearer of Nenya, for the last of the Noldor, for whom the Ban had been lifted, for she who had remained for him. He clenches, does not wish to think of it. He thinks only of how his Lady’s eyes are soft tonight, a bit like dew; how her hair and his, golden and silver, mingle and twine, bright as Ormal and Illuin, Laurelin and Telperion— how all were lights that had to pass away.

 

* * *

 

 (F.A. 1)

He remembers his parting from the Lady not as the songs (now of old) allege—

_The Three passed from Arda in silence_  
 _when the dusk spread like fire o’er the sea_  
 _and the sky blazed in glory farewell._

He recalls only the touch of her hand, a whisper upon his skin; the wind fluttering the sails of the last ship, beneath that high, high star, alone in the vastness of water; how at length it vanished in the deepening gloom, and the sea-void stilled beneath a night paunched with stars; and the faint and pulsing emptiness that she had gone.

 

* * *

 

(F.A. 5)

Imladris is quiet in the haze of late spring, in its pale snow of petals, as it has been season after infinite season, year after changeless year. Imladris yet keeps its beauty of stone and valley, of water and of gardens still well-tended, and of ancientry and lore. Here he and the sons of Elrond – and a few others who left Lórien and its East – wait, bide, prepare.

 _For just a time we will remain,_ he murmurs as a waxen petal, white as a gull, flits down from a branch and comes to rest in his hair. _For a time._


End file.
